


Fanfiction 101: An Intro To Reading Smut In Public

by clotpolesonly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Jackson is introduced to fanfiction, M/M, Stiles reads Merthur smut, and likes it more than is appropriate for public transport
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 07:21:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8569426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clotpolesonly/pseuds/clotpolesonly
Summary: Getting called out for reading smut on the bus is a nightmare, right? Not for Stiles.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blondejungkook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondejungkook/gifts).



> This is just silliness. Sarah, I blame you. This is all your fault.

_“Merlin ran his hand down Arthur’s flank, his touch featherlight and teasing. Arthur arched into it, a bitten-off cry echoing off the stone walls of his chambers as he struggled to maintain what was left of his dignity; they’d barely even_ started _yet and already Merlin had him itching to beg. This wasn’t going to last long.”_

 

Stiles’ shoulder collides with the open bus door and his phone almost gets intimately acquainted with the sewage drain. He saves it, though, with what he thinks is a pretty spectacular moment of coordination for him. The bus driver is apparently less than impressed and kicks at the big metal block with the coin slot, so Stiles hastily fishes the requisite $1.25 out of his pocket one-handed.

With one more grin for the bus driver, Stiles leaps up the steep steps and throws himself down in the first available seat. Normally he's more of a sit-in-the-very-back-of-the-bus-so-the-speed-bumps-send-you-sky-high type of person, but the fic is just getting to the good part and he doesn’t want to waste the time it would take to squeeze all the way back there through the crowd of passengers. He ends up in one of the sideways-facing benches at the front, backpack kicked under his feet and out of the way.

 

 _“Merlin’s mouth was warm, deliciously warm, but his fingers when they sparked with magic were_ hot _. They left a trail of fire in their wake, burning his fingerprints into the delicate skin of Arthur’s throat as the king tilted his head back and moaned.”_

 

Aw yes, that’s what Stiles likes to read. He grits his teeth to keep from grinning too obviously, pulling on his most studiously disaffected expression.

There’s a wizened old lady on the bench across from him, colorful purse clutched tightly in her hand, and she eyes him up like she can’t decide if he’s a hoodlum planning his next bout of mischief or a good boy reading sappy texts from his sweetheart. She would probably try to have him arrested for delinquency if she knew what he was really reading.

Stiles shakes his head and kicks his feet out in front of him, settling in for his half hour ride home. He could’ve lived in the dorms with all the rest of the freshman, but unlike most young adults, he actually likes living with his dad. The commute is a little tedious, but ultimately worth it. And hey, it gives him plenty of time to get some quality reading done.

 

_“‘Ah fuck, Arthur!”’ Merlin grunted, tightening his grip on the perfect globes of Arthur’s arse. The light skin went red under his fingers and he couldn’t resist the urge to give it a smack, make it blush even darker. The noise Arthur made was positively sinful, a needy sort of yelp only half-muffled by the pillow, so Merlin did it again.”_

 

UNF, yeah, he loves that, doesn’t he? That is some hot stuff right there, very nice, very nice.

The bus trundles up to another stop, doors hissing open to let on another load of students. Stiles absently tugs his feet out of the aisle and keeps reading.

 

_“‘—e quiet, sire,’ Merlin panted, breath hot and wet across his jaw, ‘if you don’t want the guards to hear you getting buggered by a servant.’_

_‘They’ll certainly never hear it if you never get around to_ doing _it,’ Arthur hissed out. He strained against the tight hold of Merlin’s magic, desperate for the slightest touch to his aching cock. ‘Fuck, Merlin, please, just—’”_

 

A heavy backpack thunks down right by Stiles’ foot, followed by a guy collapsing in the seat next to him. It is a very attractive guy, Stiles will admit to himself, but perfect bone structure and abs you can see even through a t-shirt do not mean he’s exempt from the never-sit-next-to-someone-if-there’s-an-empty-seat-elsewhere rule. A quick glance around tells him there aren’t a whole lot of other seats available, so Stiles can’t be too annoyed by it. He just shifts over a bit, nudges his own backpack further underneath the bench, and prepares for twenty minutes of awkwardly bumping elbows.

And awkwardly bumping knees, apparently. Stiles manfully resists the impulse to elbow the guy in the side because he would probably just end up hurting his elbow on those muscles, but if the guy starts manspreading he’s gonna be in for a rude surprise. Stiles can manspread with the best of them when he wants to and he will not hesitate to crowd the guy right back if he’s gonna be a dick on public transport.

 

_“The stone was cool against Arthur’s overheated cheek and he let himself slump a little, only staying on his feet by virtue of Merlin pressed tight against his back, pinning him in place. The slide of Merlin’s cock between his arse cheeks made him shiver and rally the last of his strength to push back, pleading without words._

_Merlin understood. Merlin always knew just what he needed._

_The sting of being breached was almost too much when Arthur was still over-sensitive from his last orgasm, a gasp escaping him before he could force it back. Merlin’s hand was over his mouth in a heartbeat, a heated whisper in his ear warning him once more about the guards as if that did anything but add shameful fuel to the fire.”_

 

“Are you reading gay erotica on your phone on the bus?”

Stiles looks up to find the guy sitting next to him craning his neck—actually, legitimately, _blatantly_ stretching his neck out like a goddamn nosy giraffe—to get a look at Stiles’ phone over his shoulder.

The nerve of some people.

A weaker fanboy/fangirl may have crumbled under such an intensely judgmental look as this one, but Stiles has a very important quality that these other fan-individuals don't: a complete and total lack of shame. He does not turn his phone away from the stranger’s scrutiny, he does not blush or avoid eye contact, he does not stutter out a denial. Instead, he raises an eyebrow.

“Are _you_ reading gay erotica on _my_ phone _over my shoulder_?” he countered. “Like a total creeper?”

Stiles is treated to the truly splendid sight of the rare flustered fratboy. The guy’s perfectly sculpted cheeks turn the same shade of salmon as his shorts, blue eyes widening dramatically, and his mouth—a very pretty, very fanfiction-worthy mouth—falls open in shock. The guy doesn’t actually manage to get any coherent words to come out, though, and Stiles puts another tally on his mental scoreboard of Times I Have Made People Speechless With My Witty Repartee.

“You know,” Stiles says casually, holding his phone up for the guy’s perusal, “if you’re really interested enough in this stuff to completely forgo the implicit zone of personal space mandated by polite society, you could just look it up yourself. Then you could read it on _your_ phone instead of creeping on mine.”

The guy stares at the words on the screen with a truly horrified look on his face, but Stiles does not miss the way his eyes flick back and forth. He’s totally reading it. Helpfully, Stiles thumbs down a paragraph or two, fighting down a laugh when it takes several seconds for the guy to realize that _he’s actually reading the fic_ and look away.

“Or, since you like this particular story so much, I could send you a link!” Stiles offers with a big grin, because his enthusiasm—instead of the expected mortification—has this guy so caught off guard he can’t even function and it is _hilarious._ “It’s a great author, I’m telling you. Well-spoken, very prolific, all kinks fairly represented.”

The guy makes a noise like he swallowed his tongue. The little old lady across the way makes an even more scandalized noise, looking like she might just up and walk off the bus right then and there, but Stiles is much more concerned with how conspicuously _squirmy_ his fratboy has gotten. Like he’s not sitting comfortably anymore. Like he might, just _might_ , be getting a little bit hard.

“Yeah, this author’s really good at this stuff especially,” Stiles goes on, hurriedly scrolling back on his phone and leaning into the guy’s space to show him. “See here? The way she writes spanking is always spot on. It’s impressive, really, it is. And this right here with the rimming? So realistic.”

The guy squirms again, fingers twisting into his shorts and balling the fabric up tight. Despite his apparent discomfort, his eyes stay glued to the screen of Stiles’ phone, zipping back and forth as he devours the smutty goodness.

Stiles watches the guy’s face get redder and redder with _glee;_ this is going so much better than he thought it would and he can't wait to tell Scott the whole sordid tale.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” he asks, leaning forward just that little bit more to make sure the guy can feel his breath on his skin. Just as he planned, the guy jerks on the spot, pupils wide and dark.

“Uh...sure, yeah, I guess,” he says faintly.

“There’s plenty more,” Stiles says and he pulls the phone away. He doesn’t outwardly acknowledge that the fratboy chases after the screen with his eyes, a muscle in his jaw jumping like he’s biting his tongue to keep from begging for it back, but inwardly he is crowing in victory. “What’s your name, pal? I can facebook-message you the link.”

“Jackson Whittemore,” the fratboy tells him, apparently too turned on to care that he was giving out his info to a random dude on the city bus.

“Cool, cool,” Stiles says, scanning through facebook search results until he finds Jackson’s profile. Friend request sent, he sets about spamming Jackson with links to good PWPs from various fandoms.

Beside him, Jackson pulls out his phone and looks almost overwhelmed at the sheer volume of smut fics in his inbox. But he accepts Stiles’ friend request.

“Have you ever even seen this show?” Stiles asks, still digging up more and more links to send to his newly recruited fanboy friend.

Jackson doesn’t answer immediately and Stiles glances over to see that he’s already moved on to a Destiel bondage fic. Good choice. Stiles nudges him and asks his question again.

“Oh. Uh, no, I don’t think so.”

“It’s good,” Stiles says, settling back in to finish his own fic and letting himself press up against Jackson from knee to shoulder. Jackson doesn't move away. “I could introduce you to it, if you wanted. Maybe back at your place.”

Stiles can’t stop himself from smirking in the most smug way possible when Jackson makes that same choking noise he did when Stiles first mentioned kinks. He licks his lips just to watch Jackson track the movement.

Jackson turns away abruptly with a grumble, like he’s berating himself for being this damn easy. Then he looks back down at the fic on his phone, chewing on his lip indecisively.

Stiles lets the guy argue with himself for a few minutes, clicking onto a fisting fic solely because Jackson’s reaction will be hysterical if he decides to start creeping again. Gwaine’s got four fingers up Arthur’s ass by the time he feels more than hears Jackson let out an exaggerated sigh.

“How many seasons is it? And are they actually gay for each other or are these stories lying to me?”

“Five,” Stiles says delightedly. “And they’re _practically_ gay for each other. We all know they were gagging for it. They just never got around to the fun stuff on screen.”

“Oh, is this the fun stuff?” Jackson asks mockingly without looking up from his fic.

Stiles hooks his ankle around Jackson’s and says, “Oh yes. Very fun.”

“Promise?”

Stiles finally closes out of his smut, but only so he can text his dad that he’s gonna be home late.


End file.
